


An Ineffable Hallow's Eve

by JenniferNapier



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale can kick ass, Badass Aziraphale, Bobbing for apples, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Cute, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Gen, Ghost Stories, Ghosts, Halloween, Hellfire, Holidays, Holy light, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Spooky, Vampire Crowley, Vampires, Werewolves, Wings, Witches, Zombies, aziraphale is good with kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:04:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferNapier/pseuds/JenniferNapier
Summary: A Halloween celebration in Lower Tadfield takes a terrifying turn when monsters become real. Together, a witch, demon, angel, and a handful of humans must find a way to break a dreadful curse (or two) before it's too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Six days before the holiday, I was overcome with an all-possessing urge to write a Halloween-themed Good Omens fanfic, so then this happened. I forced myself to spit it out and shine it up in six days flat, which was a little demonic miracle of my own considering my mad schedule. I hope you enjoy this spooky comedic drama!

It was the night of Tadfield’s Hallows Eve Celebration, which was a fall festivity hosted annually by local volunteers. The event took place at a nearby castle, a small but old heap of stone and wood that was held together by dead vines and rusty nails. It was called Fort Bogsmere, and had been quite literally thrown together in the medieval ages by a self-appointed knight who had abandoned it within a year. The castle was then declared a historical monument by the later subjects of Lower Tadfield because, well, they possessed no other interesting monuments to declare as historic.

In addition to the occasional field trip and wedding reception, Fort Bogsmere was the perfect site for the yearly Hallow’s Eve Celebration-- where a contest was held for the most spooktacular costume and a wide arrangement of activities were set up for the youth. Oil lanterns hung from the stone walls, chandeliers creaked above the dance floor, and candelabras lined the walkways of the small castle. Guests meandered throughout the halls, laughing, chatting, dining, and occasionally dodging children as the wee ones ran through the space, doing their best not to trip over their oversized costumes or drop their overfilled treat bags.

“Mister Crowley, Mister Crowley!” the elementary school children babbled, coming to a clomping halt in front of another activity booth. “What’s _ your _ game?” they asked, gazing excitedly at a large water-filled trough where awaiting apples bobbed. 

“What’s _ my _ game?” the man’s hidden eyes widened under his large circular sunglasses before he made a grand gesture. “Well, what’s it _ look _ like?” It really shouldn’t be that hard to piece together, even for first graders.

“It’s bobbing for apples!” an older child declared, shoving his bag of treats at another kid. “Hold this!” He then plunged forth to attack an apple. The children squealed and flinched at the splash of water, then joined in, creating utter chaos. “Wait, what are the rules?” called one girl, a goody-two-shoes in the making.

“No rules,” the man answered with a shake of his long black hair and a twiddle of his black-painted fingernails. “Just have at it.”

“Aren’t we supposed to grab it with our teeth?”

He made a face. “Don’t have to. Not very sanitary that way, innit?” But when did kids ever care about what was sanitary, anyway? The girl pouted as the apples were snatched up by the vicious mob. “If there’s no rules, it’s no fun.”

“I beg to differ,” Mister Crowley scoffed. “You want rules? You can only take one, how’s that?”

The girl sighed loudly and grabbed one apple-- while beside her, the other kids continued grabbing at least four each. Crowley didn’t care in the slightest. He literally had a bottomless sack of apples behind the counter.

The girl trudged away from the booth, placing her single wet apple in her treat sack and leaving her friends behind. She jumped as she heard a chorus of children screaming (then laughing) from behind a cloaked doorway. Above it, the hand-made sign read, ‘Ghost Stories,’ in perfect, white, Gothic calligraphy. With a renewed grin on her face, she ran over to the curtain and slipped inside.

The room was entirely dark except for another booth that was adorned like a mini theater. Soft velvet curtains framed a large screen as warm candlelight flickered behind it, giving fuzzy silhouettes to paper cut-outs of characters. The stick puppets danced through their spooky story as the scenery of a graveyard passed across the screen.

“There, upon the tallest hill of the cemetery,” the voice of the storyteller continued slowly, his tone surreptitiously sweet like honey, “was a magical stone.”

A new stick popped into frame, topped with a crystal ball that glittered in the firelight, sending sparse starlight all across the dark room. The young children ooh’ed and ah’ed as the ball began to rotate. “The stone glowed with the magical light of the full moon, and Melanie couldn’t help herself from being drawn closer, and closer, and _ closer_, desiring nothing more than to lay a finger upon it.” The shadow of a long-haired girl bobbed closer to the jewel.

“Don’t touch it, Melanie! It’s a trap!” one of the kids warned, hugging a blanket tightly to their chest. Others echoed the fearful cry, but the puppet named Melanie did not listen. She trembled closer and closer to the magical stone. 

“Reaching out her hand, Melanie touched the stone!” A burst of white light overwhelmed the firelight behind the screen, banishing all shadows from the scene. The youngest children yipped and squeaked with surprise. The light was gone as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the warm firelight to cast shadows on the screen once more.

One large shadow rose into the picture as a new puppet emerged into the story. “Then, the Evil Old Hag appeared, cackling with cruelty!” The narrator’s voice changed into a higher pitch as he donned a new persona, “_Ha ha! _You have fallen for my trap, little girl!” 

The Hag puppet bounced and turned to look this way and that. “‘I have captured your soul with the power of the moon! You will forever wander the Earth, never to reach the Gates of Heaven!’” A new puppet, the Ghost of Melaine, flew around the Hag in distraught misery. 

“Or Hell, for that matter,” the storyteller added thoughtfully, almost breaking character.

“Oh no, Melanie!” the children lamented, some with playful smiles. “We told you not to touch the stone!”

The size of the Hag puppet diminished as she left the scene, cackling all the way, while the Ghost of Melanie continued to fly around in circles. The narrator cleared his throat to recover from his falsetto and concluded, “And so Melanie’s spirit was doomed to stay right here in Tadfield, warning children of the dangers of the Moonstone and the Evil Old Hag that lived in the cemetery, collecting souls.”

With a puff of breath, the candles behind the screen were blown out, eliciting more screams from the children as they were all plummeted in darkness. Even the older kids cried out in surprise, though they soon started laughing. The younger ones didn’t cease their screams until the rusty light switch was flicked on.

Aziraphale emerged from the black drapes surrounding his booth, a smile on his face and the stick figure of Melanie’s Ghost still in one hand. “Alright, alright, that’s enough of that. Settle down, little ones. It’s alright,” he chuckled, kneeling in front of a quivering blanket in the shape of a child. Gently pulling the fabric off her head, he assured, “There’s nothing to hide from.” The child leaned forward to hug him, and within a few moments she was grinning again. Doubly when he gave her the puppet of Melanie’s Ghost to keep and play with.

“That was brilliant! Tell another ghost story, Mr. Fell!” Other children swarmed him, jumping up and down and waving their own stick puppets around-- gifts from previous tales of the night.

“I’ve no more puppets, darlings, I’ve used them all,” he scoffed, delightfully appalled by their enthusiasm. A great crescendo of whines echoed throughout the room, but one child’s voice piped up above the rest. “That’s a lie! You still have the Evil Old Hag!”

Making a face of exaggerated surprise, Aziraphale swept his gaze across the pack of schoolchildren around him. “Oh, _ no_. You don’t want anything to do with _ her_,” he warned, an air of performance returning to his voice. He pointed slowly at the crowd to his left, then switched hands and pointed slowly to the crowd to his right. “That Evil Old Hag was no stick puppet, dear ones. She’s quite real, and just as _ terrible _ as the story tells.”

“I don’t believe you!” the boy challenged, then gasped as the lights flickered in the room.

Aziraphale grinned cautiously, drawling, “Careful, my boy. She’ll hear you. She’s allllways listening. Allllways searching for her next soul to _ STEAL_.”

Abrupt darkness-- then another flash of light from behind the booth’s screen, where the Hag’s shadow loomed without a puppeteer. The crashing sound of thunder erupted into the air from an unknown source, causing the children to leap out of their skin. They screamed and scrambled for the exit as the lights continued to flicker vehemently.

After the last audience member zipped through the curtain hanging at the door, the lights restored to normal. Chuckling, Aziraphale stood up and removed a remote control from his coat sleeve. “What fun,” he hummed to himself, lifting the screen from his booth and placing the remote upon the surface of the counter beside an audio player. Behind the counter, a Hag puppet was securely attached to the end of a broomstick, which was tied upright to a chair. He unplugged the array of theatrical lights lining the floor and tucked away the candlesticks, ensuring that his setup was properly tidied (and his magic tricks were properly packaged) before he left.

* * *

“Come on, now, Dog, I’m not going to stand out here all night.”

Newton shivered in the outdoor, end-of-October, middle-of-the-night air. The holes and tears in his trench coat allowed the chilly breeze access to the holes and tears in his shirt underneath, and therefore, he felt rather under-dressed for this time of year. His oversized pants allowed a draft to tickle the hair on his legs as well. If he were wearing a cap or a wig, he might have been able to preserve a bit of heat wafting up from his noggin, but alas, Anathema had convinced him to simply dye his hair black and style it instead.

The screws and staples that appeared to be convincingly running straight though his head and neck were not made of any real sort of metal, but they may as well have been, for whatever prosthetics Anna had glued onto his skin had turned out to be complete _ magnets _ for the cold. The green paint on his face evidently retained enough moisture to soak up the icy temperatures as well.

Dog shuffled around the cold earth, inspecting every dead leaf pile, but apparently finding nothing suitable for him to piss on. “Come on, Dog, _please,”_ FrankenNewt whined, bending at the knees to distract his limbs from their shivering. The terrier whined back, urging the man to be patent and stop complaining.

“Ah, Mr. Pulsifer!”

The computer engineer turned to spot Mr. Fell stepping towards him, who appeared much more cozy in his historically nice and accurate 18th century regency costume. It wasn't surprising, since Mr. Fell _ was _ a historian. Wasn't he?

Cream lace bloomed from the cuffs of his sleeves, neck collar, and even the openings of his poofy knee-length pants. Brass buttons formed two rows up his jacket while golden embroidery decorated everywhere between them. His hair was more cloud-like than usual and his smile and cheeks were so pink it was almost worth questioning if he was wearing makeup.

Even his leggings looked like they were soft and warm. Newt tried not to stare in envy, lest it be misconstrued as something else. He didn’t need that bloke Crowley gunning for him. 

“Enjoying the air?” the bookkeeper asked as he came to stand beside him, glancing at Dog, whose hackles raised briefly at the man’s arrival. The hellhound calmed after he recognized that it was just that pushover angel who wasn’t worth worrying about, and he continued snuffing around the leaves like a hedgehog.

“No, not really. Not at all,” Newt admitted bluntly. A mug of hot cocoa was promptly offered to him, and he suspiciously looked at it before hesitantly accepting it, noticing that Mr. Fell suddenly had a second one of his own in his other hand.

Newton nodded in silent gratitude, sipping the steaming concoction tenderly and reminding himself what his girlfriend said about the strange things that this man and his friend sometimes did._ ‘It won’t do any good to question it,’ _ her voice echoed in his memory. _ ‘Just try not to think too much about it.’ _

He didn’t believe he’d ever get used to all this mystical rubbish. But it was never boring in Tadfield anymore. Not since the near-apocalypse.

Mr. Fell curiously asked about the young man’s significant other. “Where’s Anna?”

“She’s leading a ghost tour through the dungeons and crypts,” Newt answered between sips. The cocoa was doing miraculous wonders to warm his pathetic self and he didn’t dare stop partaking in it, not even for a moment, for fear of the cold returning to his bones.

“Oh, how delightful,” Aziraphale beamed, entirely meaning it.

Newton hesitated before venturing a similar question. “....Where’s... Sir Crowley?”

Aziraphale either didn’t catch the blatantly implied similarity or didn’t wish to deny it-- this time. “He’s running a game,” he answered, a hint of pride warming his smile. “Bobbing for apples, isn’t that ironic?”

Newton did not understand why.

* * *

The water trough was churning from all the violence it endured. One young boy (who was clearly destined to either become the town bully or the high school rugger bugger-- or _ both _) was collecting as many apples as he possibly could, making a competition out of the game.

A much older girl stood back and watched the scene with total disgust. “_Animals_.” She sighed, shaking her head as her black curls swished atop her head.

“Oi! Paprika!”

The girl lifted her eyes to give the man in charge of the booth an icy cold look.

“Where’s your band of merry little men at?”

She strode forward with confidence, correcting him firmly, “It’s _ Pepper_, not Paprika.”

“Right, Peppah.” Crowley rolled his head and waved away his mistake, asking again, “Where are your friends?”

“They went on Anathema’s ghost tour,” Pepper answered drearily, gazing at the smaller children at the booth who were now practically diving into the trough. She had made a point to stand well enough off to the side that there was a wide berth between her and the less civilized children.

“You didn’t want to go along?” Mister Crowley asked. His voice was gentle, although he dared start to assume, “Too sc--?”

She stopped him sharply, “It’s _ not _ too scary for me. I just don’t _ believe _in silly ghost stories. It’s all rubbish geared to make children behave properly and obey their elders.”

The man made a face and didn't argue with her, only mentioning, “It’s usually quite effective.”

“Well it doesn’t work on me,” Pepper declared, turning up her nose and pulling her judgmental gaze off the first graders to look up at Crowley. “I know better.”

“Good on you,” he nodded earnestly.

Glancing at the booth as if she were waiting for him to reign in control of the disaster before them, she scrunched her nose. “This isn’t a proper activity. You’re not even doing anything.”

He saw nothing wrong with this observation. “Precisely."

“You’re not even putting any new ones in.” She looked at the sack of apples hidden under the wood counter top, still brimming full-- and the trough of floating apples, brimming full-- and the children’s treat bags of apples, all brimming full.

“It’s a self-replenishing trough,” he explained with a sniff, looking elsewhere.

Pepper squinted up at him suspiciously, but it was clear that he was going to offer no explanation of his lazy witchcraft. She dragged her eyes down, then back up again, taking in his full appearance. Mister Crowley usually wore black, but this was excessive-- as was the gold jewelry. “Is that your costume?”

“Of course it’s my costume.”

“What are you?”

“The Prince of Darkness, obviously.” He brushed a few strands of his long black hair out of his face and then spread his ringed hands. The child only gave him a blank, unimpressed look. He tried not to let it get to him, sneering, “You don’t listen to much heavy metal, do you?”

She shook her head.

Crowley sighed and rolled his eyes beneath his vintage round lenses. Poor child didn’t know what she was missing.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale’s hands cupped his mug, which remained warm even if there was very little cocoa left within it. He occasionally eyed Newton’s mug, secretly ensuring that it didn’t deplete entirely until the young man’s enthusiasm over it subsided. The engineer wasn't shivering in his ragged costume anymore, which was a good thing. Poor chap.

For the fourth time in five minutes, Aziraphale rotated himself ever so slightly so that he could spy the entrance to the garden in his peripherals, as if expecting the arrival of company at any moment.

It was true that part of the angel wished that Crowley would come out into the garden with him, but he could be patient. He wasn't going to spend all night slyly trying to get the demon to make the first move. That would be ridiculous. And it definitely was not how he was going to spend the majority of his night. Not at all.

However, Aziraphale couldn’t help but glance toward another couple strolling through the other end of the garden, laughing together, wearing matching costumes, and snapping what he recognized as ‘selfies’ of themselves. He smiled to himself with a fond wistfulness, almost failing to disguise it in time as Newt glanced at him.

“Amazing, those new smart phones,” Aziraphale commented quickly. “Apparently they're, ah… _ really _smart.” He didn’t know the technical term-- didn’t remember how many gigawatts were packed into them.

“Y-yeah,” Newt attempted to agree, though he suspected that if he dug into any great details beyond surface-level knowledge, he’d only confuse the bookkeeper. He was right.

“Do you have one?” Aziraphale asked, quirking an expression as he realized that he’d never actually seen Mr. Pulsifer with an electronic device at all before. Perhaps the boy was digitally illiterate, like himself.

“No. I… mine broke.”

“Oh, I can fix it for you,” the angel offered enthusiastically, then amended, “Or, I suppose Crowley would be better at fixing those things. Knowing me, I’d accidentally set its abilities back a few decades.”

Newton couldn’t seem to decide upon the right shape of his ashamed smile. “That’s very kind of you, but I don't think it'll do any good. It'll just break again.” He took his phone out of his pocket, which didn’t look broken at all, except that it wouldn’t turn on. Even though it was fully charged. “You see, I…. well, I would show you if I could, but...”

Aziraphale reached over to tenderly pat his upper back, empathizing, “It’s alright, Newton, I'm not good with technology either.” His hand stayed between the man’s shoulders, and the angel might have turned to glance at the door in his peripherals again.

Newton paid no mind to his touch, unaware of the ulterior motive behind it. Pocketing the phone, he sighed and lifted his brows, “Oh, I doubt you're as bad as me.”

After a few moments, Aziraphale removed his hand from Newt’s back, also sighing. Just what the Hell was taking the demon so damned long to come looking for him? Glancing around the garden to search for another way to pass the time, Aziraphale resorted to his go-to topic of small talk. He looked skyward. “Lovely night isn't it?"

Newton gave him a confused look between performing a double take at the dismal sky. “I don't know about that. Looks like a storm is brewing.”

Aziraphale’s false smile grew even less convincing. “Yes... those clouds are quite domineering, aren’t they?”

There wasn't a single star visible in the darkened sky. Crowley loved the stars. It was too bad that the clouds were covering them all. If only there was some way to fix that, and perhaps lure the silly man outside.

* * *

The demon defended his costume by picking on her own. “Are you a _ bumble_bee?” He made a face. How _ unoriginal_.

“No,” Pepper corrected him. “A _ spelling _ bee.”

“A _ spelling _ bee?” The words spilled from his teeth in disbelief.

“Y-E-S. Yes,” she spelled. “A _ queen _spelling bee, actually. See the crown?”

Crowley dragged his eyes across the ceiling and prepared to press his fingers to his temple. “Oh good _ Hell_.”

“I can spell any word.” She rotated her hips, swaying her yellow and black netted skirt proudly as she surveyed the room as if it were her kingdom.

“Any word, eh? Any word at all?” he challenged, leaning forward to place his elbows on the counter top of his booth.

“Any word in the Oxford Dictionary,” she pointed at him, clarifying. She was well-prepared to combat his tricks and challenges.

“Which edition of the Oxford Dictionary?” he asked with slow diction.

She hesitated only for a moment. “...The most recent one.”

He grinned devilishly, “Right,” then nodded and took a large breath, presenting her challenge. “Then spell Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.”

Pepper’s cool expression did not change. In fact, she smiled, raised her chin, and began reciting every single letter in the word with a military pace and precision.

The demon’s grin collapsed, and his jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be damned.” 

She looked very pleased with herself. Crowley pulled his glasses down the bridge of his nose to peer at her with his yellow reptilian orbs. “You memorized that, for a costume?”

“No, I memorized that for my school Spelling Bee, which I won,” she bragged proudly, swaying again.

“Brilliant. That’s bloody fantastic.” He lifted one hand to offer her a high five, which she accepted heartily. “You must go show that to Aziraphale, he’ll be aglow. Go on, show Aziraphale. I saw him duck outside those doors there.” He waved a careless point towards the entrance to the garden. The angel had certainly been out there for quite some time now....

“Alright, I will.” Pepper skipped away, her bee wings bouncing. The demon worked hard to banish a smile from his face as she went. Clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up again, Crowley glanced around to ensure that nobody else had caught a rare glimpse of his eyes.

It was a good thing that he replaced his gaze on the frolicking child, or else he might not have spotted another party guest staring at her intensely from across the room. That party guest wasn’t one that he had spotted in the castle before. They were tightly wrapped in a sleek red cloak, bore white hair that was slicked back to match their perfectly white skin, and possessed pure white eyes with vertical pupils that began to glow red as they preyed on Pepper prancing toward the garden.

Crowley grew even more alarmed when he caught a whiff of their metallic, inhuman smell. He propelled himself into motion just as the strange creature was lunging for the girl.

* * *

Pepper flinched as a great surge of air closed in behind her, partnered with a set of viper hisses and guttural growls. A clawed, bone colored hand reached for her face-- but was promptly knocked away. Jumping back, she gasped as the cloaked stranger crashed against the ground, shoved by Crowley’s arms. The demon's wings spread to wall her off from the would-be attacker, and Pepper distantly realized that those black features were not part of any 'Prince of Darkness' costume.

Others began to come to the same realization. Party guests gawked, cried out, and reacted with a general terror to the sudden sight of a monster. Of _ two _monsters, who were only moments away from all-out war.

The pale, cloaked figure uttered a deep crocodilian hiss and rose back to its feet. Pointed fangs protruded from its grimace and burning albino eyes focused only on her. Those features were not part of any costume, either.

Crowley yanked his glasses from his face and tossed them aside, burrowing a full hellish glare at the stranger. “Go t’ the garden, now,” he breathed at the child behind him, nudging her with one wing to lightly encourage her to move. After a few stunned steps, Pepper turned and ran.

The stranger’s eyes followed her, prompting it to lunge toward her again, blind to the barricade in its path. Crowley seized its attire and slammed it against a pillar, scattering dust from the cracks in the aged stone. The party guests scattered as well, scooping up their little ones and screaming as they ran from the ballroom.

Crowley angrily studied the creature’s hollow eyes as it frantically watched them all scurry away, unable to focus its gaze on the demon holding him. “What are you?” he snarled, shaking the pale man-shaped monster.

It only purred with desire, “Thirsty.”

Crowley’s expression scrunched with abhorrence. As the new creature’s eyes finally locked upon his, the stranger smiled. Its fangs practically glowed. It burst into action again as white bat wings erupted from its back and pushed both of them away from the pillar, which crumbled with the added pressure.

The demon landed hard upon the ground, wrestling with the monster in a flurry of limbs, fangs, claws, and wings. It was a good thing that the space had cleared out in record time, because they used the entirety of it in their brawl. They crashed through tables, overturned candy bowls, and knocked down candelabras left and right. Their great wings dusted away centuries of spider webs in the rafters, doing the castle-keepers a rather large favor while also making a rather large mess.

Crowley roared with more disgust than pain as he was bitten upon the neck, clawing his way free with a burst of Hellfire from his palms. In an act of revenge, he revealed his serpent fangs, which were much longer, sharper, and deadlier, and bit the bastard right back.

The creature screeched and writhed, but was ultimately not fazed. Crowley cried out again as he felt something crack, growing panicked as he discovered rather quickly that whatever this creature was, it was just as strong as a demon. Arguably, stronger. Stronger than _ him_, at least, and that rightfully scared him.

With its white clawed fist wound in his shirt collar, the demon was impressively pitched across the ballroom. Only one of his wings opened properly, and so he spiraled like a rugby ball straight into his own apple trough. His fall was poorly cushioned by a mighty splash of water and a loud splintering of wood. Bright red apples rapidly escaped from his landing site as if they were terrified of being bitten into by the approaching foul beast.

* * *

The angel pulled his gaze away from the shining full moon as he heard humans screaming from the castle, though it took a moment for him to recognize that it was not the ‘secretly having fun’ kind.

Due to human instincts, Newton was much quicker to catch on that something was wrong. “What’s going on in there?” Dog’s tail tucked and he shivered at Newton’s shins.

Aziraphale caught the scent of something inhuman just as Pepper burst outside, looking terribly frightened for such a brave young girl. “Crowley’s in a fight!” she called, not needing to say anything more. Aziraphale’s cocoa mug was already plummeting to the ground.

* * *

Uttering a moan, the demon propped himself up on one elbow and tried to lift his uncooperative wing. Crowley’s clothes were torn and his wig had fallen off at some point, but he wasn't bothered by any of that. He was bothered by the woozy feeling in his head that could only be achieved when one was irrevocably drunk. He hadn’t consumed a single drop of wine that night.

His good wing flapped feebly as he was snatched again, but he was too disoriented and sick to struggle all that much. Vaguely, he heard something along the lines of, “You’ll understand soon enough,” breathed into his face with foul dead-fish breath.

Much more clearly, he heard the boom of Aziraphale’s commanding voice. _"Let him go, or else.”_

There he stood in the doorway to the garden, wings spread, embroidered jacket billowing, and arms drawing power from his elbows to his palms, balling it like electricity in front of his core. The angel’s wings stretched upward like beacons, radiating with the same energy. He was literally aglow, and Pepper hadn't even shown him her talent yet.

Newton and Pepper lingered further back, in awe of the destroyed room and the otherworldly beings inhabiting it. Dog was there as well, ears flattened and teeth nervously bared. He had finally peed-- right on the polished floors.

The monster’s fanged growl transformed into a fanged grin as it laughed at the heavenly intruder, believing that it recognized, “Moonlight.”

“No, not moonlight.” Aziraphale pushed aside his brief confusion and continued to glare at the beast while buzzing energy built between his poised hands. “Holy light. Last warning, let him go, _ now_.”

Crowley blinked, using a free arm to pull another pair of vintage lenses out of thin air and wiggle them onto his face. He then tensed, leaning as far away from the creature who held him as possible.

Aziraphale didn’t wait an instant longer. His wings flapped, stretching forward and curling beneath each other to form a feathered bounce board for him to unleash his light upon. The energy he’d gathered burst forth in a laser beam of white, reflecting at the perfect obtuse angle to hit the monster and evade Crowley.

The demon dropped to the ground, gladly flattening himself against it and turning his head as the other creature was thrown against the far wall like a rag doll. It collapsed, sizzling, smoking, an unmoving. The light vanished as soon as its job was done, and Aziraphale shook his wings to dispel the rest of the energy.

He was at Crowley’s side in no time. “One of yours?”

“No, worse!” Crowley coughed, blinking beneath his shades as spots danced in his vision. “I dunno what it is, but it’s bloody strong.”

Aziraphale ran his hands over his friend, noticing his broken wing, and... the bite marks on his throat, already scabbed over with coagulated blood.

The stranger stirred, rising with a throaty growl and pushing off the ground with a flap of its bat-like wings. Taut skin acted as sails as the fiend pounced from the rafters. Aziraphale opened his own wings again and fearlessly stood up to face it-- with something new in his hand, hidden behind his leg. A piece of wood from the broken trough. Newton covered Pepper’s eyes and hugged her into his chest just in time to spare her from the frightful sight.

Aziraphale revealed the stake in his grip just as the creature descended upon him, expertly plunging it through its ribs and straight into its heart. The creature screamed, glowed brilliantly, and then shattered into diamonds that rained around the angel and demon.

A few moments of stunned silence followed. Newton slowly let Pepper out of the shelter of his hold, his expression agape. When the last diamond came to a rolling stop, Aziraphale exhaled, looking at the piece of wood in his grip. His fingers began to relax as he turned around to face the rest of them. “Well, that was….” An uneasy smile, and then he swallowed. “Definitely a vampire, wasn't it?”

Crowley slowly sat upright, peering up from his crooked glasses. “A _ vampire? _ But those don’t exist.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “That one did.” He gently tossed the piece of wood to the ground and reached over to help Crowley to his unsteady feet.

“That was a _ vampire? _ ” Pepper called, almost in anger. “Are there going to be _ more _of them? Is this another End-of-the-World bit?”

Aziraphale didn’t have an answer for her, wincing apologetically. Crowley leaned on the blonde’s shoulder, his black wings lopsided. The angel ran a hand over his friend’s faulty feathered appendages, straightening them with a miracle.

“Vampires are a fable conjured by humans’ imagination, they’re not _ real_. God didn’t _ put _ vampires on Earth, unless I _ missed _something,” the redhead grumbled with a mixture of denial and irritation.

“No, you’re right. You haven’t missed anything.” Aziraphale checked him over once more before letting the healed man stand on his own. The demon’s clothes were still torn, but his body was unbroken, and his wings gave an appropriately symmetrical flap in testing. The angel lifted a hand to rest his palm upon the wound in Crowley’s neck, furrowing his brow in concern as he felt a dull darkness within it. “It bit you.”

“I’m fine.” Crowley pulled away and put his own hand over it. When he took his hand away, the wound was healed over as if it’d never been there at all. “See?”

The angel's concerned expression did not fade.

“I bit him back,” Crowley declared with a vengeful triumph. 

That did not assuage Aziraphale’s fears. “You bit a vampire?!” he whined in exasperation. “Oh, Crowley!”

The redhead ignored his friend’s silly worries, instead, turning to the humans who had hesitantly caught up with them. “You alright, Peppah?”

She nodded deeply, her throat tight and her eyes trying their best not to become wet. She hid her emotions by stepping forward to hug the demon tightly around the middle. After placing a touch on her shoulder, he gently urged her to separate. “Right, now, no more of that.” He was not a hugger. Not supposed to be one, anyway.

“Did everyone else make it out alright?” the angel asked, glancing around the abandoned castle while absent-mindedly placing a hand on Pepper’s shoulder as she wiped her face. Her emotions calmed rather quickly with his warmth.

“Pretty sure they all made it out of _ England _ by now, with how fast they were running,” Crowley muttered, impressed.

Newton finally spoke up with a burst of apprehension. “Anna! Anna and the boys, they’re--"

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale breathed.  
  
They were down in the crypts.


	3. Chapter 3

The caverns beneath Fort Bogsmere were humid with the musky scent of mud, roots, and soggy century-old wood. They were also poorly ventilated and full of creepy crawlies. Even if Anathema hadn’t any frightening folktales to recite, the young boys following her would have been rightfully spooked by the crypts.

She held a torch as she led the way through the passages, her other hand occupied with her notebook. “The tombs are this way,” she murmured, unperturbed by the rank atmosphere around them. Adam Young was right behind her, stepping around some questionably-opaque puddles with one hand resting on the plastic hilt of his pirate sword. The shabby weapon was holstered by the sash around his middle and his eye patch was flipped up, now serving the purpose of keeping his brown bangs out of his eyes.

“Are there skeletons in the tombs?” he asked curiously. There was a mildly disgusted grimace on his face, but it didn’t reach anywhere near the level of repulsion that Brian-- and especially Wensleydale-- wore on their faces.

“Oh, yes,” Anathema answered, as if his doubt was almost offensive to her. She wouldn’t be taking them all the way down here if there weren’t skeletons to see. 

“Are they… _ gross _ skeletons, or are they _ clean _ skeletons?” Wensleydale asked nervously, holding a torch of his own with both hands-- and following Adam’s footsteps exactly.

“What a stupid question,” Brian spat. “All _ real _ skeletons are gross.” Everyone knew that.

“Some are cleaner than others,” the woman answered justly. “Depends how long they’d been down here, exposed for decomposition.” She threw a small smile back at the boys. Adam grinned back at her, but the other two only grew more repulsed. 

Brian and Wensleydale began to question if this ghost tour was going to give them nightmares afterward-- but neither would have admitted it if it did. Perhaps Pepper had made the right decision to stay up in castle with the little kids.

“Is Sir Langhorn buried down here?” Adam asked next, referencing the self-proclaimed knight she’d told them about earlier, who had this castle built for himself. As legend had it, the man had a knack for causing mischief, running into debt, and mistreating the handful of serfs he’d bullied into being his subjects. Sir Langhorn had been quite a rubbish knight, and his petty tyranny had not lasted long before a certain witch by the name of Agnes Nutter had cursed him into the form of a goat. That was when Sir Langhorn’s brief legacy had ended, and when his castle was left abandoned.

“No,” Anathema answered, carefully stepping down an old set of steps that were carved into the compacted earth. “I don’t think they would have buried a goat down here, even if he was the knight of the castle.”

“Maybe if he had been a more chivalrous knight, they would have,” Brian called.

Wensleydale argued matter-of-factly, “If he’d have been a more chivalrous knight, he wouldn’t have been turned into a goat, now would he?”

“Burial grounds beneath castles are usually reserved for the royal family of that castle,” Anathema informed them, turning to glance back at them occasionally as they worked deeper and deeper through the old tunnels. “But Sir Langhorn had no family-- not that he was of any royal blood anyway-- so these grounds were empty when he was cursed.”

“Then how can there be skeletons down here?” one of the boys asked.

The woman smiled in the firelight of the torch. “Well. Over the centuries, these crypts became the prime spot for dark dealings of the underground. Anybody looking to hide a body would sneak down here to dispose of it. Murderers, thieves, slave traders, and cultists would frequent these caverns to perform their evil work. So,” she shrugged and pursed her ruby lips. “Bodies simply began to pile up.”

“I don’t believe you,” Wensleydale accused nervously. “You’re- you’re making all that up to scare us.”

“No she’s not,” Adam defended, throwing back a glare at his friend. “And so what if you’re scared? This is a ghost tour, what’d you expect?”

Wensleydale pouted to himself, and didn’t question Anathema’s expertise again. The woman studied the walls between casting glances in her notebook. “Witches used these caverns too. One in particular.”

“Agnes?” Brian guessed enthusiastically.

“No.” The witch’s descendant stopped to face the boys, explaining intently, “Agnes’ arch-nemesis. A truly wicked old hag named Grace Hargraves.”

“Grace?” Brian quirked a corner of his lip, unimpressed with the name. “We named our first cat Grace.” 

Adam threw a harsh _ “Shhhh,” _back at him and focused on the continuation of Anathema’s tale.

“She called herself ‘Gracey Graves,’ and she used these caverns to study necromancy for years.”

“Necromancy?” Wensleydale echoed with a scrutinous squint.

Anathema nodded solemnly. 

Adam exhaled with a delighted twinkle in his eyes, “Wicked.”

It was then that they heard a distant moan echo throughout the confined space. The three boys jumped and whirled around to stare into the blackness behind them. The frail torchlight that Wensley cast did little to satisfy their curiosity or comfort their quickened hearts.

“Just the wind, children,” Anathema smiled kindly. “It can create eerie noises in these tunnels.”

Wensleydale and Brian did not like the sound that the wind made. Not one bit. They were much slower to pull their gaze back onto their tour guide than Adam was. “Is Gracey Graves buried down here?” the Young boy asked eagerly.

“I don’t know,” the woman shrugged and began their journey again. “Could be. I wasn't able to dig up anything about her beyond the seventeenth century.”

Another vocal droning reverberated through the crypts with all the hopeless emotion of a forlorn monster that only a mother could love-- yet evidently didn’t, since its soul spoke of pure abandonment.

“There it is again," Brian whispered. “Bloody awful, that is.”

“Are you _ sure _it’s wind, Anna?” Wensleydale’s eyes bugged out from beneath his glasses more than usual. 

The witch glanced into the darkness behind them and hesitated. “Well, there’s nothing _ else _that it could be.”

“Are all these fancy stories gettin’ you scared?” Adam scoffed at his mates with a teasing grin.

Brian stuck close to Wensleydale, his eyes fixed on the yawning darkness as he admitted, “Might be.”

Wensleydale was starting to shiver. “Are you _ not _scared, Adam?”

“Of course not."

Brain became a little testy, snapping, “No, you think you’re _ invincible _‘cause you’re the son of the devil, is that it?”

Adam snapped right back at him, deeply stung. “I’m _ not _the devil’s son!”

His shout rang through the tunnels. It was answered by another groan that dragged through the walls, this time with a faint curling growl on the end of it.

“Come on, boys. Let’s keep moving.” Anathema glanced between them and the direction where they’d come, hesitant to give in to her doubts. She’d always been a bold, stubborn woman. But she was also no idiot.

* * *

The slanted double doors to the cellar creaked as they were opened. Newton pulled one door up with all of his human might, stumbling as he let it rest on its hinges. Aziraphale lifted the other door with ease, as if it were as light and delicate as a page in an oversized, dusty, old book.

Coughing and waving away a cloud of particles, the computer engineer blinked. “It’s quite dark down there.”

“No it inn't,” Crowley scoffed, strolling confidently down the steps and disappearing in the blackness where he was more than well-camouflaged.

“Are there no lamps?” Newton called, taking a few tentative steps down the stone stairs with Pepper holding onto his arm.

“It’s really not that dark.” Crowley’s voice echoed from the void, paired with the gentle clink of glass bottles. “Ooh, Chateau."

“How can you say that? You’re even wearing sunnies.” Pepper squinted and felt along the walls. Her fingers touched a spot of wet moss and she flinched in surprise.

“Here,” Aziraphale offered, and a source of light grew from within his closed fist. He cupped it tightly and held it against his stomach as if it were a firefly capable of nuclear destruction if it escaped from between his fingers.

The wine cellar was being curiously browsed by the demon across the room. “Crowley, this is no time for a drink,” Aziraphale scolded, keeping his light firmly contained as he made his way to another door. 

“I beg to differ,” the demon muttered, popping a cork and taking a grand swig of the red wine he’d discovered. “Vampires attacking, party guests making a mass exodus out of the country, and a rescue expedition about to commence in the dungeons-- I’d say it’s the perfect time for a drink.”

With the aid of the angel’s Holy Light, Newton unlatched the door to the crypts. “Bring up the rear, would you, my dear?” the angel requested of the demon, leading the way through the doorway with the humans following close behind. Crowley grimaced through the taste of the centuries-old wine, but found himself taking another swig, and another, until he found the bottom of the bottle-- his thirst entirely unquenched.

He stood alone in the cellar, staring at the bottle he’d emptied, and feeling an impending bad feeling cropping up in his gut.

“Crowley, are you coming?” he heard Aziraphale call distantly. “We haven’t any time to waste.”

The demon’s gaze had turned up toward the cellar door. The one he probably should have taken. The door out. But with an uneasy hesitation, Crowley set the empty bottle down and cautiously followed the sound of his friend’s beckoning. “...I’m coming, angel.”

They made steady progress through the earthy halls. Aziraphale’s steps were sure-footed and appropriately paced. His light beamed ahead of them to bathe the walls of the winding path. Pepper grasped onto his coat with one hand as she stuck close behind him. Newton still held her other hand, navigating via the residual light that lingered on the floor as they moved in a single file line.

Crowley stalked a few yards behind them, staying out of the light entirely. The only proof that he was present at all was the occasional sight of his orange eyes peeking above the frames of his shades. It was in those fleeting moments that his growing concern was visible, though nobody noticed.

“I simply don’t understand it,” the angel fretted. “How could God have allowed such a monster to crawl upon the earth?”

“She’s done it before,” the demon muttered from the darkness behind them. “Remember all that nonsense with the Greeks?”

“That was back in her experimental phase. She’s over that now,” Aziraphale assured, wracking his mind. “Are you _ certain _it wasn't one of--?”

“I’m certain.”

Pepper hesitantly spoke up, “Do you think it could be Adam’s doing?”

The angel stopped before turning to stare at her in worry. Nervously exhaling a laugh, he shook his head, “Nonsense, dear, he’s… his powers are gone.”

“Unless they’re not,” the demon’s voice growled as he stepped closer. The gold chains of his jewelry and the circular lenses of his glasses glinted in the edge of the light. “Does he still have them?”

“I don’t know,” Pepper recalled worriedly, “But he did mention... on _ that day _…” The day of the near-apocalypse. “...that Hallow’s Eve was going to be exciting this year. That there’d be a full moon, and proper monsters…”

The three adults felt their hearts sink.

“...And that ghost stories would come true,” she finished, looking sheepishly up at them.

“Oh Heavens.” Aziraphale looked colorless. They all did. Especially Crowley.

“He said all that? Are you sure?” the demon sneered, his teeth clenched.

She nodded.

Throwing his arms up, Crowley turned away to direct his anger at the walls confining them. “Well, that explains it, then.”

The angel was stunned, and could only whisper in deep denial, “He doesn’t have his powers.”

“Well, _that _day, he did.” Crowley barked, still pacing and gesturing at the edge of the light. "And if he said those things back then, then they’re going to come true whether he still has his powers now, or not.”

Newton looked as if he were about to faint, and he drew a hand to his forehead. Pepper looked guilty and scared. The celestial beings continued to argue. “Well, what do you suppose we do?” Aziraphale began to sweat.

“I don’t have a bloody clue.” The demon’s eyes flickered in and out of view within the shadows. “But first things’ first, we have to find that boy. Then we can… figure something out,” he gestured with a flailing hand.

“Right. On we go, then.” Aziraphale swallowed and gathered up his courage. The group set off once more, this time at a quicker pace and calling desperately for their lost friends. As they strode forward in their single file line, Crowley’s eyes returned to their default resting place. The back of Newton’s pulsing neck.

* * *

Brian was bold enough to ask what was on the other boys’ minds. “Anna, are you lost?”

Flipping to another page in her notebook, she snapped, “No, I'm not lost.” Then, more gently, she huffed, “I can’t be lost. I charted these tunnels extensively last week.” Looking up to study the two pathways ahead of them, she worried, “Only… we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. This doesn't match up.” The three kids exchanged glances to each other. It was clear that Adam was expected to solve things.

Hesitantly, he suggested, “Maybe we should retrace our steps.”

“Yes, let’s try that,” Anathema yielded. “Good idea, Adam.” The four of them turned to head in the direction they came, but stopped dead as another moan rippled through the crypts. It was definitely louder (therefore possibly closer) than last time. 

“Th-that didn’t sound like wind, that sounded like--” Wensleydale quivered.

“Shh,” Anathema hissed, her torch lifted in front of her. After a few silent seconds, they heard feet shuffling. Bones scraping. Breath rasping. All barely audible above their own pumping blood and deafening adrenaline.

Something was definitely behind them. Something dangerous, and daresay not human. “This way, boys,” The woman gestured to the tunnel to their right, ushering them ahead before following. They hurried to obey her direction, but quickly came to a cartoonish domino halt as the tunnel ceased abruptly in a dead end, adorned by an open coffin leaning against the corner. 

The figure of a corpse stumbled out of the coffin on meatless, boney legs, its jaw agape and eyes missing. The three young boys erupted in girlish screams, each on a different pitch-- with Wensleydale at the highest and Adam at the lowest-- their terror perfectly harmonizing. The animated corpse screeched right back at them as if the urge to join in was irresistible. Its arms sagged forward to reach for their living skin in envy.

Its head was knocked clean off its sinewy neck as Anathema whacked it with her torch. It did the job of subduing the zombie, but the torch fizzled out, leaving them with only Wensleydales’.

“Run!” She urged them all back into the main vein of the caverns. The group took a sharp turn and ran through the hollow ground as more zombies crawled, blundered, and snarled behind them.

* * *

Crowley stumbled. His claws scraped against the wall as he caught himself, sending sparks of Hellfire raining down to briefly light the area around him. He snarled into his elbow with mounting irritation, holding back a wretched cough.

“You alright back there?” Newton glanced over his shoulder.

“Fine, just tripped is all,” the demon grumbled, his voice muffled by his sleeve. “There was a… a rock.”

Aziraphale didn’t recall spotting a rock in their path recently, but he kept his focus forward, his hands tight and nervous around his small ball of light. 

The tunnel opened up into a cavern that echoed with dripping groundwater. The angel peered up at the stalactites looming overhead and furrowed his brow. Lifting his hands, he let his Holy light waft up and float freely about the room like a harmless little butterfly. Newton and Pepper continued into the space, following the orb of light and calling for their friends while Aziraphale slipped back into the dark passageway behind them.

“Crowley?” he hummed softly, stepping around a few serpentine corners as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. His night vision wasn't as sharp as the demon’s, but he could make out the shape of him leaning heavily against one wall.

“Are you alright, darling?” The bookkeeper reached forward to place a hand on his shoulder. The demon was quivering, and still burrowing his lower face in his elbow as if he were about to unleash a category five sneeze. His forehead and temples were pale and strained. “You look ill."

“I’m fine,” the redhead rasped through his teeth, sucking in a breath after.

“Do you need to take a rest?”

“No, that’s out of the question.” Crowley forced his elbow away from his face and cracked his neck, taking in a few deep breaths of the humid air.

Aziraphale tentatively removed his hand from his shoulder, not wishing to cause him any more discomfort and knowing Crowley didn’t usually take well to physical contact. “If you need to rest--”

“I don't," the redhead snapped again, gesturing for the man to lead the way. “Now let’s get on with it."

But Aziraphale did not move. He stood with the glow of the cavern at his back, silhouetted by a calm, warm hue. Newton and Pepper’s calling voices could he heard in the near distance as they searched for the others. In their dim privacy, Aziraphale whispered, “I can’t help you if you don't talk to me, Crowley.”

There was a pause of thought from the demon, but he gave in to his defensiveness once more. “I don't need help, angel. Really.” Crowley rubbed a wrist under his nose and swallowed heavily.

Aziraphale studied his concealed eyes. Lifting his hand again, he placed it upon the demon’s cold cheek, fingertips venturing into his hair. “I care about you.”

Crowley caught his breath silently as he calmed under the angel’s touch-- though it was difficult to tell if it was due to a sense of instilled peace or a sense of heart-fluttering shock. “Do you know that?” Aziraphale asked. His other hand was now lying over the demon’s heart, monitoring its gradually slowing rhythm. “I care about you very, very much.”

Crowley lifted his eyes to stare into Aziraphale’s, taking in the sight of all the pain, longing, and adoration in his expression. Funny how those things were so similar to each other.

“...Gave me an awful fright up there, seeing that creature with a hold of you," the angel swallowed tightly and attempted to recruit a false smile as a facade. He’d appeared so fearless and strong at the time, with his wings erect and Holy Light brewing between his palms. But it was clear now how very scared he’d been, and he was just realizing it himself.

“I think that I… would truly do anything for you,” the angel continued cautiously, as if he was just discovering that as well. Hurrying on, he took a breath. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help. And if you need it, then please… _ promise me _ you will ask for it.” He applied a bit of pressure into his touch to jostle the demon slightly, trying to drill the concept into his being.

Crowley responded with a series of absent-minded nods, rasping, “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale’s smile shifted into a more genuine one, and he slowly slid his hands off the man. His expression twisted slightly as he murmured, “You drank that entire bottle of wine, didn’t you?”

The demon nodded like a guilty child.

“I can smell it. Well, sober yourself up, we’ve got work to do,” the angel ordered gently, glancing him over one last time with an expression of concern before turning towards the cavern.

The demon sighed before doing as he was advised, grimacing while he evaporated the alcohol in his blood. He regretted it immediately as he became aware of a painful burning in his gums and innards. “Bloody Hell,” he spat, lifting a hand to his throat. It was drier than the Sahara. No amount of miracles cured it, causing his concern to grow into fear. He needed another drink. Maybe not century-old wine, but _ something _. Anything. Even....

The humans were suddenly yelling in the next room, and the angel was already rushing to catch up to them. Crowley followed haphazardly, lifting his sleeve to his nose to stop the burning in his sinuses.

“What did you find?” Aziraphale gasped, glancing at the dirty notebook that Pepper held in her trembling hands. “It’s Anna’s…” Her eyes were wide with fear. Newton was clutching a doused torch, the metal framing bent. “Something bad happened, we’ve got to hurry.” His voice was panicked, yet stronger than it’d ever been. The man was already spinning on his heel, darting toward the archway into the next series of tunnels.

* * *

The double doors of a mausoleum burst open as three children and a witch leapt out. “Close it, close it, close it!” The portal was promptly slammed shut-- but there were no locks. So Anathema peeled off her jacket and tightly tied it around the handles of the door. “Is that going to hold?!” Brian gasped, out of breath.

“Not for long, come on!” Anathema gathered them into a run again, glancing around the cemetery where they’d surfaced. Her steps faltered as she noticed the clear sky and full ominous moon. “There was supposed to be a storm tonight…” she murmured to herself, alarmed by the unexpected sight. “Why are there no clouds?”

“What’s it matter? Run!” Wensleydale was still booking it, not looking back as he plunged into the brush of the overgrown graveyard. Brain and Adam were still running as well, perhaps more to catch up to their friend than to run from the mausoleum. “Wensley, wait!”

Anathema jumped at the sudden sound of bodies slamming and scraping and growling at the feebly-secured door behind her. She glimpsed a few half-decomposed arms flailing from the gap before she took off after the boys.

* * *

Aziraphale was not a runner. “Newton, wait! _ Wait_!” His knackered voice was drowned out by Pulsifer’s piercing calls of “_Anna! Anna!! _” 

Gesturing forward, the angel sent the orb of holy light at the man. It obeyed wonderfully, flying ahead to place itself at the tip of the mangled torch that the computer engineer had found. He ran with it extended ahead of him, leaving the rest of his party behind. Pepper tried her best to keep up with Newt in her bouncing queen spelling bee costume, but his legs were simply longer.

Fearful that his light would go out if Pulsifer carried it too far away from him, Aziraphale slipped past the girl, gasping, “Stay with Crowley, dear.”

_ “No!” _ Crowley protested sharply, skirting around the both of them as if the child was a landmine seconds from going off. “You stay with her!” he ordered, nearly falling on his face. Aziraphale jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision. “What? Wh-”

“_Just do it!” _the demon hissed, catapulting himself ahead of them at an alarming speed. He caught up to Newton in seconds, snarling an uncharacteristically rude and hypocritical, “Move it, four-eyes!”

“Crowley, be careful of the light!” Aziraphale called in a confused panic. Newton glanced back, tucked the Holy torch into his jacket, and narrowly dodged the fiend just in the nick of time. Straightening his glasses, the computer engineer regained his footing and sputtered, “What’s the matter with you!?”

“I can track her scent, say with the angel!” the demon snapped back. His arm was firmly covering his face as he barreled onward, leaving them behind. Aziraphale called after him, but he did not answer, and he did not slow down. The angel couldn’t help but wonder if the demon was actually pursuing their lost friends, or if he was instead simply running away.

Crowley took in a great breath after placing a considerable distance between himself and the others, his lungs burning-- and not from the exercise. His claws scraped against every corner he took, leaving smoldering embers of Hellfire behind as if he’d been striking flint. Markings for them to follow.

He practically flew through the tight passageways, his fire-eyed vision only improving in the pitch dark. It was difficult in the claustrophobia-inducing tunnels, but he did his best to focus on the older scents in front of him, and not the fresh ones urging him to turn around.

The scent of additional inhuman creatures ahead encouraged him to keep running. He would admit that he was quite literally bloodthirsty, and desperate for a fight. Desperate for something to quench his thirst. Something he could bite into without feeling guilty about it. He welcomed the sight of more monsters, and charged straight into the undead fray without hesitation. The skin on his forehead and cheekbones gave way to scales. His eyes burned brighter. His serpent fangs folded open. His claws extended.

But his victims were already drained. Bloodless, empty, unsatisfying for his dire cravings. He stopped tearing into them and instead unleashed a wave of flame across them all, roaring in frustration. As the last of the zombie horde collapsed and fell into ashes, he extinguished his hands. His skin grew back over his scales, his fangs retreated, and his claws shrank. The demon slid his fingers into his hair and wrapped his wings around himself in a confined cocoon of distress. He knelt there alone for a few minutes, struggling to get a grip of himself, and shaking terribly.

“Crowley!” The others rounded the corner and halted at the simmering sight before them. “Oh my.”

Newton coughed, waving away the smoke, “What happened? What were they?”

“Undead,” Crowley whispered. He slowly stood up and opened his wings as they caught their breath, taking in the view of his fruitless handiwork. Some broken coffins smoldered along the edges of the charred walls. “They were bloody _ undead_. _ Non-bloody_, rather. _ Uergh,_” he retched, overwhelmed by the scent that plagued him, and leaned against a heap of broken, half rotten coffins as if he were going to puke into them.

Newton whirled around. “Where’s Pepper?” His question forced Aziraphale to tear his gaze away from Crowley. “Pepper?!” He was supposed to stay with her.

“I’m right here,” the girl called, catching up to them with her own small white light source. Aziraphale was almost as stunned as he was relieved. “Where’d you get that?'

She gave the surrounding heaps of embers a curious look, then turned her glare to the bookkeeper. “Wot, my phone?”

“That’s a phone?”

“Yes, it’s a phone.” She shook it and gave him a remorseless ‘duh’ expression.

“A flashlight on a phone, how brilliant,” he murmured, vowing to marvel about it later. Crowley was now sitting among the old caskets as if he were contemplating crawling into one for a nap.

Keeping his back to them, the demon rasped, “You lot go on ahead.” When nobody moved, he demanded loudly, “I said, _ go on ahead! _”

The angel sighed and nodded to the humans, “It’s alright, go on. We’ll be right with you.” Newton and Pepper nervously passed by, casting concerned, hurt, and confused glances their way.

* * *

“Crowley,” the angel prompted gently, though not unlike a parent about to give a lecture.

“I’m not okay.” The demon’s voice was weary and scared. “I can’t breathe. The _ smell_, it’s too much."

Aziraphale glanced at the remains of the undead. “You did create a bit of a stench here.”

“No, no, not that.” Crowley’s eyes were squeezed shut. When he opened them next, they were pale. “Blood. Blood, Aziraphale. _ Human _blood. The temptation, it’s like one of Lucifer’s contracts, I can't ignore it.” In such a poorly ventilated space, it was all he could smell. The musky, wet mud and earth, the rotting corpses, the burned bone and flesh, none of it registered with his senses anymore. All he could think about was the iron taste blood. It was almost all-consuming.

“...Oh no, Crowley.”

“Don't let me hurt them. Please,” he quaked. “I need you... to promise me... you won't let me hurt them.”

Aziraphale choked up, smiling weakly. “You're not going to harm them, Crowley.” He then rushed to the man’s side, placing his hands upon him in comfort. “You’re not--”

Crowley snatched his arms tightly, hissing, “I _ will_, unless you stop me.” Trying very hard to remain calm, he pleaded, “I _ need _you to take this seriously, angel. Please. Promise me you’ll stop me."

Aziraphale stared into his eyes, detecting a faint cloudiness forming in his slit pupils. It was true. He was changing. “You shouldn’t have bit that _ stupid _vampire!” he whined, blinking quickly. After attempting a smile which failed miserably, he forced himself to nod and promise. “I won’t let you hurt them.”

“Good.” Crowley relaxed, taking a shaky breath and then slipping something into the angel’s hand. A sharp piece of wood from a coffin. 

He may as well have been handed a glowing blade fresh from the forge. Aziraphale reacted as if seared his skin. Flinching back and trying to drop it, he protested, _“Crowley, no!" _ as the demon forcefully kept it in his hand. Aziraphale was livid. “How _ dare _ you-- I will do _ no _ such thing!” he seethed, trying to pry Crowley’s grip away.

The demon emphasized desperately,_ “If things go wrong."_

“I am NOT going to k--” The bookkeeper twisted out of his friend’s grasp and stumbled back. He was terribly upset. Too upset for words.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley pleaded as the angel began snapping the stake into tiny pieces.

“Out of the question. Never.” He broke each fragment again, and again, putting all his anger into the action until they were mere splinters.

Crowley was panicked. “You _ must _stop me, if need be!”

Aziraphale was enraged, his voice booming as he threw the splinters aside, “I don't have to KILL you to do it!”

Crowley tilted his head and gently informed him, “You might.”

“I won’t.” There were daggers in Aziraphale’s icy glare.

“Angel, you said you’d do anything for me.”

“Not that,” the bookkeeper gestured with a pointed finger and waved away the idea. “Anything but _that_. I will _ not_.”

“I’m asking for your _ help_, here,” Crowley growled. This stubborn, lovesick, foolish bastard of an angel was his last hope, and he was refusing to do what might very well be necessary.

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear another bloody word from you, you stupid man.”

“Their _ lives _are at risk!” the demon raised his voice with a gesture, using his own anger as a last resort to convince his best friend to do that last thing in the world he would ever want to do.

“_I don't care! _ I’m not plunging anything through your--” Aziraphale caught himself too late. Correcting his words, he finalized, “They're going to be _ fine_. Everyone is going to be just _ fine_, damn it all. _ Especially you_,” he hissed with a firm point, as if it were a threat.

Crowley had never seen him so angry, and never heard him so bluntly, honestly, utterly heartless. So he only whispered in defeat, “You promised.”

“I know what I promised.” Swallowing and adjusting his lace ruff, Aziraphale composed himself. “I promised I wouldn’t let you hurt them, and I’m keeping my promise. Only, not to _ that _extent.” When he was finished putting himself back together, he strode forward again. “Now come along. And don’t even think about bringing any surprise souvenirs with you.”

Crowley hung his head and abandoned the splintered coffins to follow his friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Weather-worn and vine-strangled gravestones glowed beneath the cream moonlight. Brittle leaves swished and crunched under the charging feet of three boys and one witch as they trudged through the overgrown graveyard. In the distance, a lone wolf began to howl.

“Where are we?” Brain caught his breath beside Wensleydale’s bewildered glancing. “Which way is the castle?”

“It should be this way,” Anathema gestured toward the trees after peering up at the stars. She supposed that was one good thing about the disappearance of the clouds; the sudden visibility for navigation.

“This is the worst ghost tour I’ve ever been on,” Wensleydale whined, appearing as if he were about to fall over from either exhaustion or depression. “It’s the _ only _ ghost tour you’ve ever been on,” Brain pointed out, still huffing and puffing as he walked briskly behind their guide.

“It’s the _ best _ ghost tour _ I _’ve ever been on,” Adam declared breathlessly, but delightedly.

“You’re mad!” his friends declared in exasperation. “You think this is all just a game, don’t you? In case you didn’t notice, we were about to be eaten by zombies!”

“No we weren’t!” the Young boy argued with a scoff. “We’re just fine, see?”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” Anathema muttered crossly, wiping the sweat from her brow between holding some dead branches aside.

She looked up as a breeze brushed by, rattling the remaining leaves that clung to their skeletal birthplaces. Carried in the wind was an ethereal cloth, furling and billowing as it passed. An edge of the translucent cloth turned, revealing a gaunt face staring back at her. Her heart jumped in her throat as she gasped, stepping back to stop the boys in their tracks. They noticed the phantom next, crying out and clinging to her. Well, Wensleydale didn’t so much as cry out as he did unleash another bloodcurdling scream of terror. Beneath the deafening scream of his friend, Brian demanded, “Is that a-- a ghost!?”

The ghost answered by yawning open its mouth and changing course to fly straight toward them.

“Move!” Anathema pushed them ahead of her. The haunt swept after them, bringing a wave of chilled air along with it.

* * *

“I can’t do this.” Crowley’s steps faltered as his boots shuffled along the cold ground. His fists were balled at his sides, arms stiff and shaking. “I can’t do this,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“You are doing just fine, now hush,” Aziraphale murmured from behind him, occasionally lifting his hand to the demon’s back and encouraging him to keep moving-- like a guard escorting a prisoner to his cell.

Crowley was very pale, and appeared only moments away from vomiting, fainting, or both. “I can’t, Aziraphale. I’m gonna _ hhrrrrrgh--!! _” But instead of hurling, he exhaled a deep bestial snarl and whirled around to face their followers. Aziraphale threw a hand up to his friend’s chest and kept him where he stood, his palm proving to be more sturdy than stone. The demon leaned against the blonde’s hand, twitching as if he were contemplating clawing his way past the obstacle.

Aziraphale was calm, still, and unfazed. “Forward,” he urged with the gentle firmness of a parent. “Forward.” With the aid of Aziraphale’s redirection, Crowley reluctantly turned around and continued leading the way through the tunnels.

“This isn’t going to turn out well, is it?” Pepper muttered, shining her smartphone’s flashlight in front of her feet.

“Nonsense. Everything is going to turn out just fine,” Aziraphale corrected her._ “I _ think this is actually a rather well-timed blessing in disguise.”

“Oh, please,” Crowley scoffed to himself between dry breaths, rolling his clouded eyes.

“Without your enhanced sense of smell, we would have been lost down here for ages,” the angel chirped merrily.

“No we wouldn’t. We have this.” Pepper lifted up Anathema’s notebook, filled with maps of the tunnels. Aziraphale resisted casting a dull glare at the girl.

Newton cupped his free hand in front of his Holy torch, occasionally glancing behind him into the void they were leaving behind. “Is Crowley going to turn into a _ full _ vampire, or is he going to be a, um, a sort of hybrid?” the man asked curiously, trying to be as polite as possible.

“He’s not going to turn into anything. He’s simply not feeling well,” Aziraphale answered matter-of-factly with a dry tone. His optimism was wearing thin. “He’s going to be just fine.”

“Is his hair going to turn white?” Pepper asked curiously, keeping herself at a fair distance behind the angel like she’d been instructed. “Is he going to get bat wings?” 

“I’m going to go _ mad _ is what’s going to happen,” Crowley sputtered with self-rage. With a guttural growl, he started to turn around again, doing his best to resist it and clearly hating every second that he couldn’t.

As every time before, he was met with Aziraphale’s halting hand. “Nope,” Tthe angel turned him around by the shoulders and nudged him forward once more. Crowley exhaled a viper hiss and followed through with the turn-- only to spin around over the other shoulder and take a rather large step towards _ dinner _. He placed a surprising amount of force into his efforts to barge past the angel, and crashed against his hand with enough power to cause Aziraphale to stumble back one single step.

Pepper halted as doubt sparked in her mind, and she watched them warily. Aziraphale held his ground, doing very well to hide the evidence of the pressure that built between this seemingly unstoppable force and himself as an immovable object. “Turn around,” he whispered kindly, though also slyly digging his heels into the earth as Crowley continued to push against him.

“I _ can’t," _The demon seethed, his hands shaking as they came up to hesitantly grab Aziraphale’s arm. Their grip tightened, and Aziraphale employed his other hand, pressing it against Crowley’s shoulder. “_Turn around._” His voice was more stern, yet still heavy with calm patience. They locked and pressed against each other like antlered bucks.

Pepper took a step back, watching them intently as her faith battled against her doubt.

“I _ CAN’T!” _Crowley hissed again, suddenly equipping a new burst of energy to force Aziraphale’s arms away. The angel pivoted on his heel, grabbing Crowley’s shirt collar and pinning him firmly against the wall of the tunnel. Loose dirt rained from the roots above them as a rumble echoed through the caverns.

Crowley’s resistance did not subside. The demon wriggled against the wall, attempting to find suitable purchase to use to his advantage. Aziraphale shifted to brace his forearm firmly against the man’s collar, suggesting with tense pleasantry, “Why don't you two go on ahead? We’ll catch up.” He smiled, but the expression abruptly ended as Crowley made impressive work in pushing off from the wall. The angel forced him back against it, leaning into him with his elbow. Pepper shrank back into Newton’s arms, and the both of them flinched to shield their eyes from the dust as another brief tremor rippled through the crypts.

“Hurry along now,” Aziraphale exhaled with an unsteady grin. 

Newton didn’t need to be told twice. “Come on, Pepper,” he guided the child forward, hugging her to his side. Pepper kept her concerned gaze locked on Crowley’s grimace as they passed behind Aziraphale’s back.

The demon’s eyes burned white behind their dark lenses. As they passed, Crowley’s quivering hands returned to Aziraphale’s arm, and it was all he could do not to dig his claws into his sleeve. “Don’t wait up. Just keep going,” Aziraphale requested with a dash of false optimism as his heels began to slide along the dirt beneath him.

As soon as the humans’ backs were facing them in retreat, Crowley reacted like a proper predator prompted into a chase. His wings burst from his back to launch himself off the wall. Aziraphale crashed against the opposite wall as he was shoved away, causing more loose soil to rain down as a great crack appeared in the earth above them. Crowley gunned straight for Pulsifer. With a desperate reach, Aziraphale lunged after the demon. He miraculously managed to snatch his ankle and bringing him to the ground as Crowley swiped a claw only inches away from the man. Pepper shrieked and took off running with Newton following at her heels. The man was yelling some kind of apology for eyeballing Aziraphale’s stockings earlier.

Crowley had no idea what Newton was babbling about, but he didn't have time to ponder it. His arms were already pushing himself up, ready to pursue his prey. The redhead's body moved against his will, and he could do nothing to stop it. Fortunately, before he could regain his footing, Aziraphale grappled him from behind. Assuming the position of a seatbelt hold, the angel hooked his legs around the demon’s and clasped his arms around his shoulders and neck.

He kept his chest tightly matched to Crowley’s back, pinning his wings at their base. As uncomfortable as it was for the both of them, he maintained his hold even while the demon continued to fight against him. The angel grimaced through the struggle as his knuckles turned white and his limbs grew sore.

“Stop,” Aziraphale sputtered. “Stop.”

“I _ can’t, _” Crowley wheezed once more, craning his neck and struggling.

“Yes you can. I know you can,” Aziraphale growled encouragingly.

Crowley choked out a long snarl before pitching himself backwards, slamming Aziraphale against the ground. The angel’s breath was knocked out of him, and the maneuver weakened his hold enough for Crowley to twist himself around in an impressive attempt to escape.

They shifted against each other like tectonic plates, but Aziraphale’s hold remained more or less unbreakable. Re-positioning his arms around Crowley in an odd sort of bear hug, Aziraphale grimaced into his friend’s shoulder and clamped a vice grip down onto his own wrist. The demon managed to slip one hand between their chests to push against the angel.

Crowley knew that if he succeeded, he would be flying down that tunnel at the speed of light, and he could only pray that he wouldn’t have anything left of himself to remember or comprehend what would happen next. “Don't let go.” Crowley’s breath was hot against the angel’s shoulder. The lace and gold embroidery of Aziraphale’s costume tickled the demon’s lips as he repeated, “Don't let go.” His arms trembled as he unwillingly pushed against the angel’s chest, trying to pry them apart so he could fulfill his chase.

“I’m not going to let go,” Aziraphale’s voice was somehow still calm and kind despite his strain. Crowley’s jaw yearned to open, his fangs burning as he breathed against Aziraphale’s shoulder, but the demon managed to turn away, pressing his forehead into the angels neck instead of his teeth.

He sucked in the scent of his friend like it was oxygen, doing his best to ignore the smell of succulent human blood and instead focus upon Aziraphale’s celestial smell. The smell of fresh cotton linens, and a bakery, and every sweet, sugary pastry that was warmly baked within one. Still, he pushed and tugged and twisted and did everything he could to try and break away, quivering the entire time, and not just from the force he exerted. Aziraphale turned to press his cheek against the demon’s hair. “It’s alright.”

Crowley responded by growling in an anguish, believing that it was _ not _ bloody alright. It was everything _ but _ bloody alright. His claws crept out from his fingers. His teeth clenched, yearning to bite something, _ anything_. His breath grew hotter as fire danced in the depths of his throat.

Yet Aziraphale soothingly whispered into his ear, over and over, “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

Eventually, Crowley felt the battle within himself become a little easier to win. As the humans left his range of scent, he started to breathe more freely again. His fire died and his claws receded back into his nails. His mouth clenched shut. Slowly, his grip weakened, his muscles relaxed, and he began sobbing into the angel’s shoulder. His hands slipped behind the angel’s back, pulling himself into a defeated embrace.

After a few moments Aziraphale relaxed his grip too, sliding one hand up to bury his fingers in Crowley’s hair. “You’re alright, my dear.” With his other hand, he rubbed Crowley’s back as it quaked with the demon’s every breath.

The redhead wasn’t the only one quaking. Dirt sprinkled down from the crack in the tunnel again as the crypts shifted and broke apart, unable to deny their prior abuse any longer. White wings curled above the pair just as the caverns collapsed.

* * *

A cloud of aged dust lifted as the earth crumbled. Pepper and Newton burst out of the double doors of the mausoleum, dashing into the graveyard. Coughing, they glanced back to watch the cloud roll and the ground settle.

“They’re okay,” Assuaging the child’s concern, Newton urged her forward with a hand on her back. “We’ve gotta keep going. Come on.”

That was when he spotted Anathema’s torn jacket. “Oh my.” He snatched it up and whipped his gaze through the surrounding trees. His voice rang out as he took off with Pepper right behind him. “Anna! Anna!”

* * *

“_Bewaaaare the ole _ ’ Haaaag,” the phantom’s hollow and empty voice haunted Anathema and the boys just as much as its swooping form. “_Bewaaaare the stoooone _.”

“What is she saying?” Adam asked, glancing back as he ran to try and listen to the distorted words.

“What’s it matter? Run!” Wensleydale repeated in hysterical panic.

But the four of them skid to a halt as they reunited with a small horde of zombies. The animated corpses fanned out to form a wall in front of them. One zombie-- the self-proclaimed overlord of the swarm-- jumped up to take a high position upon a tall gravestone adorned with a broken cross. The zombie’s eyes were vacant yet somehow seemed to glow. A pair of horns curled back behind the zombie’s long, maggot-chewed ears. The zombie was a goat.

“_Sir Langhorn?! _” the four of them cried out in stunned unison.

The undead goat unleashed an affirming battle cry of, _ “Blea-a-a-a-ay!” _

* * *

Rocks shifted and clumps of dead grass tumbled as one black wing unearthed itself from the rubble of a ravine. With a growl, Crowley arched his back and pushed his way up from beneath another chunk of earth. He flapped his wings to clean them. Some black feathers rained down around him, revealing patches of pale skin where they used to be embedded in his wing.

The demon clawed away another boulder, coughing, “Are you alright?”

A white wing sprouted up like a daisy, stained brown with mud. Aziraphale groaned, feeling his spine pop as he stood up and stretched his back. “Just _ dandy_,” he grumbled, steadying himself with Crowley’s arm to regain his balance. “Are _ you _ alright?”

Crowley immediately responded, “No.” He caught his breath and nervously looked around. They were in a graveyard, which meant they were not as far away from society as he would have preferred. “No, I’m not. I can’t be around them. Around _ anybody_. I need to hide.”

“Crowley--”

“Go on without me,” The demon demanded.

Aziraphale winced, rubbing the back of his head before shaking it. “What? No, you’re coming with me, we have to find--” But then he noticed that, in the light of the full moon, Crowley’s hair had turned white at its roots.

“No, _ you _ have to find them.” Crowley pointed at him harshly, then threw his arm to the side to gesture wildly, “The _ last _ thing we want is for _ me _ to find them.”

“I… I can’t just _ leave _ you,” Aziraphale whined, his wings sagging.

“Yes you can,” Crowley nodded with a depth in his tone, mirroring Aziraphale’s earlier encouragements. He stepped forward to brush his hands down the angel’s feathers, banishing the dirt from them with the aid of a minor miracle. All of the dirt evaporated from the blonde as he continued, “You _ must_.”

Aziraphale only stared at him, crestfallen.

With another gesture, Crowley ordered, “Go. They need you out there.”

The angel didn’t move. He only pouted miserably.

The demon tried to be gentle with the over-sized puppy dog, promising, “I’ll be right here. I’ll see you when this is all sorted out. Alright?” 

Aziraphale finally nodded, though with no shortage of reluctance.

Nodding back in gratitude, the demon sighed and threw a salute as he stumbled away, “Right. G’bye, angel.” His wings folded to his back, dropping a few more black feathers in the process, before vanishing from the physical realm.

The bookkeeper watched as his friend transformed into a piebald serpent. The snake burrowed itself deeply into the rubble of the tombs.


	5. Chapter 5

Sir Langhorn leapt off the gravestone, head bowed, horns directed forward, rotten hooves charging straight for the children. He was fully prepared to ram straight through them like they were bowling pins-- until a black and white blur burst from the bushes with a terrible snarl.

The undead goat was knocked on its side, legs stiffening due to pure shock. It rolled onto its back, paralyzed momentarily as the small attacker pranced around him, yipping angrily.

“Dog!” Adam cried in joy. The terrier wagged his tail, incredibly pleased with himself.

The rest of the zombies were still bumbling toward them, eager to avenge their fallen master. “Come on!” Adam ran forth, drawing his pirate sword. The others reacted with much less bravery, and much more practical sense. “Adam! What are you doing?”

“Charge!” the boy yelled, lifting his weapon and rushing courageously at the army of the dead.

Wensleydale and Brian then hurried forward to join their leader, unleashing battle cries that were really only more cries of terror. Perhaps they were simply at a loss for what else to do, acting in desperation. Or, more likely, perhaps they were simply tired of being chased around like chickens, and would rather face death than flee and run out of breath yet again.

“Boys! Boys, get back here!” Anathema was baffled, but she rushed forward as well, unable to abandon them.

Adam jumped off a stone and drove his plastic weapon right through a zombie’s squishy middle. The creature fell apart like well-cooked fish. Encouraged, he kept at it, battling the next zombie with a slash of his cutlass.

Wensleydale and Brian picked up some branches and swatted at their share of zombies, flanking Adam in a triangle. “Take that!” _Whack._ “And that!” _Whack._ Wensleydale was a surprisingly talented zombie slayer. Brian was rather rubbish at it, but he did his best.

“Anna! Anna!” 

A zombie’s head popped into the air from the back of the crowd, followed by two others. Anathema dodged the swipe of one corpse and craned her head to look above the sea. She spotted some dark hair and fake screws. “Newton!?”

“Anna!” Newton was making his way towards her, brutally wielding his unlit torch like a club. Anathema gazed at him, an infatuated grin hinting at the corners of her lips. Knocking zombies left and right, her hero barged straight towards her, wearing his Frankenstein’s Monster costume instead of a suit of shining armor. In that moment, it was all the same to her.

“That’s my man,” she murmured to herself, in awe of his valiant clumsiness. He finally fought his way through the crowd and took her into his arms. She gladly accepted his embrace, smiling against the dirt caked in his hair. “What are you doing so far from the castle, you moron?” she asked with a hint of laughter in her usually-serious tone, believing she knew the answer. He had been looking for her, that Witchfinder Pulsifer.

His reply was nothing charming. Instead, he caught his breath with a great scoff, “I could ask you the same thing, you dimwitted woman! No more ghost tours! Do you hear me?” She was not allowed to organize one of those damned things ever, _ ever _ again.

He was never this angry with her, nor ever brave enough to make any sort of demands from her. She absolutely adored it. Planting a massive kiss upon his painted green lips, she clutched him closer. Within seconds, his anger disappeared, and he began moving his arms over her back and employing his tongue in the mixture of their kiss. Time seemed to slow down as zombie limbs and pieces flew up into the air behind them like morbid fireworks.

Meanwhile, Pepper was mercilessly smacking skeletons aside with Anathema’s hardcover notebook, calling, “_Adam!! _” as she worked her way towards the bugger. Pure anger drove her toward her target, as opposed to Newton’s undying love for his. “Adam!”

The boy was too enthralled in his combat to really acknowledge her, only glancing at her and laughing, “Oh, hey Pepper! Didn’t want to miss out on the fun after all?”

She smacked his shoulder with the book. Hard. 

“Ow!” 

“You must stop this!” she shouted with all the wrath of a big sister-- though they were nearly the exact same age.

Adam was crestfallen, gesturing to his handiwork with his sword. “But we’re winning!” He had done some very impressive work indeed, but the problem was that his opponents weren’t really defeated. The corpses were reanimating themselves as the children spoke.

Pepper shook her head, feeling a migraine coming on. “No, _ Hallow’s Eve! _ You must stop Hallow’s Eve! _ Duck! _” She swung the book with all her might as the boy dropped into a crouch. A skeleton’s skull shattered upon impact, and it stumbled about in a headless daze.

Adam was glad that he had ducked in time, and doubted that Pepper would be at all apologetic if she’d hit him instead. The boy stood up again, protesting, “I can’t stop Hallow’s Eve! It’s already here!”

Pepper grabbed the collar of his striped pirate shirt. “Look here, Mister Adam ‘Not-The-Devil’s-Son’ Young. If you _ don’t _ stop it, Crowley’s going to turn into a blood-sucking vampire, and we’re all going to be his next meal!”

“What?!” Adam did not expect _ that_. Glancing behind her, he cried out, “Duck!” 

She did not duck. She threw her other hand over her shoulder, driving the spine of the notebook into a zombie’s face behind her. Buried in a flutter of pages, the zombie held its crushed face and staggered back while the remains of its nose crumbled between its boney fingers. It wisely decided to go for a different target.

Pepper lowered the book, still drilling her glare into her friend’s eyes. “There was a vampire in the castle and it bit him! Or --he bit _ it_, I’m not exactly sure what caused the infection. But he’s in trouble, and If you have _ any _ powers left in you, _ please_, fix all this!” she shook him lightly. But he was not listening to her. He was staring at something behind her. “Adam? Adam?” There was no fear in his eyes. He looked peaceful; in a trance of awe.

She turned to spy what he was staring at. It was up on the tallest hill of the cemetery, where a lone tree clawed at the clear sky and a large unmarked casket lied like an altar slab. Between the two stood a single staff, twisted and aged, tendrils poised like fingers to display a small glowing white stone.

“Oh, wow,” the girl exhaled. It was the most beautiful stone she’d ever seen. She let both Adam’s shirt and the notebook go. The book dropped to the ground, tattered from the time it had served as a weapon. A pair of zombies lunged at them but Brain and Wensleydale knocked them away with their branches. “What the bloody Hell are you two gawking at?” But then the other boys followed their gaze and saw it too. “Holy moley. What is that?”

The Them didn’t even realize that they had begun to head towards it. They also didn’t notice that the zombies were now ignoring them entirely, undisturbing them from their climb. Sadly, this meant that Anathema and Newton were forced to put a hiatus on their makeout session as they became the sole focus of the mob.

“Boys?” Anathema spun around to search for the children she had forgotten about. Newton spotted them ascending the hill. “Kids! Stop, what’s come over you!?” he called, struggling to keep his focus on them when the zombies were starting to pile up.

The Them remained deaf to their calls. 

“We shouldn’t touch it.” Pepper continued to climb the hill against her better judgement.

“Why not?” Adam questioned innocently.

“Isn’t it a bit odd? A pretty stone like this, all the way out here, with no one guarding it. Seems like a bit of a trap, doesn’t it?” Wensleydale’s glasses magnified the treasure in his vision.

“I don’t think so. That’d be too obvious,” Adam argued.

“What if it’s magical?” Brian wondered.

“It’s gotta be. I mean, how could it not? Just look at it.” Pepper was just as transfixed upon the object as the others were.

“I only want to touch it. That’s all. Just one little touch,” Adam assured them as he came to the top of the hill first. He stepped slowly, as if the stone were a rare creature that would be scared off if they weren’t careful about it.

The ghost emerged from the tree behind the artifact, howling, “Bewaaaaaare!” as it rushed the children. They flinched and covered their heads as it passed through them, bringing a winter chill to their bones. 

It started to fly at Them again after circling around, but suddenly reeled back as if it were afraid of Them. Fleeing, the phantom wailed incoherently one last time. The children relaxed and turned back toward the stone, but were spooked by an ugly stranger hissing into their face, ** _“Boo!”_ **

_"Aah!” _ The kids coiled back at the sight of her putrid and potted skin. Her eyes were as yellowed as her few scraggly teeth, and her robe was made of mildew, moss, and spider nests. Her screech transitioned into cruel laughter as she took a mighty delight in their fright. “EEEEEEAHAHAhahahahaha!” It was an Evil Old Hag, wielding the gnarled staff topped with the Moonstone.

“You have fallen for my trap, little ones!” she crooned, brandishing the staff before waving it back and forth like a wand. The children followed it with their eyes, then began to sway side to side to mirror it. “Now your souls will be lost _ forevah!” _

The children trembled as she cackled again. They reluctantly reached out their hands towards the creamy white treasure, drawn to it like moths to a flame.

“Don’t touch it!” Brian pleaded, answered by Pepper’s growl, “I can’t stop!” 

Even Adam began to panic, his arm being the furthest forward, “No! No, _help!”_

Luckily, help did come.

It came in the form of a great gust of wind that blew back their hair and costumes. With a flap of his white wings, Aziraphale dropped between them and the Hag. He stretched his feathers to both wall off the children behind him and display a threatening, holy presence. But he was perplexed by the recognizable foe he faced. _"You!"_ Fear and guilt twisted his expression, but most of all; anger. What had been a fun game before was no longer fun nor a game. “You leave Them alone, or else.”

The Hag clutched her staff, giggling through her missing teeth and sickly gums. _“Oooooh,_ or else _what_, pretty bird?”

The angel gathered Holy Light from his forearms to ball it in front of himself. He smiled with no small amount of smugness. She deserved a good smiting. “Well, you’ll find out, now won’t you?”

The timely howl of a wolf punctuated his rhetorical question, and Aziraphale’s confidence became replaced by worry. They all spun around to spot a giant creature crashing through the undergrowth, its thick fur a deep russet brown. Canine jaws salivated as a snarl ripped through the air. The beast was running right towards them with the swiftness and strength of a draft horse.

* * *

Aziraphale redirected what little Holy light he’d gathered, aiming a beam right into the creature. The blast stung its shoulder and knocked it off course-- but only temporarily. With a shake of its fur and a deeper growl, the werewolf regained its footing and galloped toward them again.

The angel adjusted his wings to wall of the children from both the Hag and the werewolf, but noticed all too late that the children were no longer behind him. Glancing around distractedly, he caught a glimpse of them running off after the Hag, who beckoned them away with her staff, cackling, “This way, little ones!”

“Children, come back here!” he barked after them, but it was no use. They couldn’t hear him, and they wouldn’t be able to return to his shelter even if they could. The werewolf snarled with hunger, its claws digging into the ground to propel itself up the hill. 

Aziraphale tried to focus, though he performed a double take as he noticed Adam’s toy sword on the ground. He lunged for it, snatching it up and then twisting to face the monster. As the toy arched through the air, it lengthened, steeled, and glinted in the moonlight. The gold paint around the hilt morphed into actual gold while the pointed tip of the sabre sharpened.

The Principality of the Eastern Gate met the beast with a real cutlass, sheathing it expertly into the abomination’s core.

He grimaced as its claws raked down his back and sides, tearing his embroidered Italian coat to tatters with a mighty shred. The angel ducked to avoid its jaws, slipping out from under the creature and abandoning the sword within it. The werewolf staggered a little but continued snarling, turning to face him with the sword doing as much good as a mere accessory. The creature was not dead, nor dying-- at least not anytime soon. It was only extremely pissed off.

Aziraphale lifted his arms and closed his wings around himself as the beast knocked him on his back in a puff of white feathers. A giant paw pinned one of his wings down and dug into it. The werewolf’s jaws roared as a deadly set of claws raised skyward against the background of the moon.

Its triumphant moment was utterly ruined when a ball of Hellfire hit the monster square in the side. The carnivorous beast toppled over, yowling in pain. Crowley landed with a single beat of his molting wings, bearing his pointed teeth and stretching his arms forward to send another stream of Hellfire into the werewolf, roasting it thoroughly. The sword melted in the pile of leftover charred matter.

As the flames subsided, Crowley stared beyond the remains of the deep-fried dog, watching Anathema and Newton continue to battle the array of zombies below the hill. Newton’s glasses were broken and Anathema’s arm was scratched-- just enough for her to be bleeding into the sleeve of her blouse.

The vampire-demon hybrid took a step forward as his piebald wings opened once more.

“_Crowley! _Crowley, don’t!” Aziraphale coughed, propping himself up on one elbow and struggling to rise to his knees. Crowley didn't hear him. The angel _had_ to stop him. He forced himself to his feet, lunging forward with a desperate reach. “Cr-- _augh!”_ He fell to his knees as his body seized up. Every vein in his vessel began to itch terribly and he felt as if his bones were trying to change shape beneath his skin. He wasn’t exactly wrong.

Crowley’s attention was promptly stolen. “Aziraphale?” he whirled around, wings lowering, heart quickening, panic rising. “_Aziraphale!” _As the angel folded up into a trembling ball of pain, the demon flew to his side. Crowley ran his pale hands over the man’s torn coat, hissing with increasing fear disguised as anger, “No, no, no, _no, NO!”_ He found that his miracles were not able to cure the strange infection.

The moonlight burned into Aziraphale’s wings, and the angel could feel its mysteriously irresistible influence taking over his body, mind, and soul. His feathers began to change color like leaves dying in the fall. Within moments, they dyed brown; this time not by dirt. “_Angel! _”

It wouldn’t be long before he wasn’t an angel anymore.

* * *

“Come, now, kiddies, it’s all yourrrrrrs, go on, touch it. Touch it,” the Evil Old Hag tempted, waggling the staff again before holding it still, outstretched for their little fingers. The Them were powerless to resist its pull, try as they might.

That is, until a darkness passed over the grounds. The Moonstone’s glow faded as its source became obscured.


	6. Chapter 6

Looking up in confusion, the children and the Evil Old Hag witnessed the moon waning. “What?!” the Hag snapped, terrified. “What is this _ witchcraft?!” _

The zombies began to fall apart, the false life seeping out of them as the graveyard grew dark. Newton caught his breath, glancing around and then upwards with a crooked expression on his face. He couldn’t see very well with his glasses no longer intact, but there was no mistaking it. Something was passing over the moon.

Anathema blinked up at the disappearing moon as well, bursting into a grin of relief. “A lunar eclipse... I can’t believe it.”

Aziraphale gasped for air, his tremors ceasing. “What’s happening?”

“The moon, it’s-- it’s being covered by the Earth’s _ shadow,_” the demon explained in disbelief, gawking up at the ineffable alignment of space and time.

“Thank _ God,_” the angel coughed without remorse.

As the last crescent of the satellite vanished and the world was placed into a moon-less darkness, the Evil Old Hag began to screech and boil. Without the life-giving light, she melted beneath a cloud of black magical smoke. Then Grace Hargraves-- necromancer, nefarious witch, and conniving thief of children’s souls-- was no more.

Her staff dropped to the ground, the stone transparent and dull.

The Them cheered and jumped, celebrating their freedom of will and retained possession of their own souls. The ghost flowed gently around them, her presence dim and barely noticeable in the dark. Her speech was less hollow and distorted, now more reminiscent of a young girl’s voice. It twinkled pleasantly in the night air. “You must destroy the stone before the magic of the moon comes back.” The Them ceased celebrating to listen to her with wary wonder. “Destroy it so that no child’s soul will ever be stolen again.”

“What about you?” Adam asked, inexplicably understanding her tale without needing it told.

“I am lost forever. There is no helping me,” the ghost swayed, repeating, “Destroy it, please.”

The Them watched as Adam picked up the staff, turning it in his hands. The boy thought for a moment, then smiled warmly, “I have a better idea.”

He lifted the staff with one arm towards the darkened moon, welcoming its return.

As the Earth’s shadow began to depart, a red-colored crescent waxed on the edges. The color reflected in Adam Young’s eyes, and a filtered light of crimson bathed the world as a blood moon emerged.

“Adam, what the blazes are you doing?!” Somebody or multiple somebodies called as the zombies rebuilt themselves and the pile of cooked canine flesh shifted.

“It’s alright,” Adam smiled, meaning it. “Everything is alright.”

And it was. 

Crowley’s black feathers grew back as if caught in a time lapse. Similarly, the color returned to his eyes, hair, and skin. His desires ceased to burn. Aziraphale’s wings purified and his coat mended itself back together. Newton’s glasses repaired themselves and Anathema’s notebook sucked back in all its pages like a vacuum was hiding in its spine. The rebuilt zombies merrily returned to their graves. A simple grey wolf stood up from the pile of ash and frolicked away into the woods with its tail wagging. The overgrown graveyard cleaned itself up as if it had been given the nicest landscaping job, and big bright healthy pumpkins bloomed in holiday-appropriate clumps.

The ghost grew more defined in shape, until she regained the complete form of a little girl standing with Them. She beamed in gratitude before lifting her face to the Heavens and fading away.

Adam grinned, “Goodbye, Melanie.” 

* * *

The boy lowered the staff, its scarlet color fading into translucency. 

Sounds of the Tadfield Hallow’s Eve celebration came to life-- where a contest was held for the most spooktacular costume and a wide arrangement of activities were set up for the youth. Guests meandered around them, laughing and chatting. Children ran through the space, doing their best not to trip over their over-sized costumes or drop their overfilled treat bags. Oil lanterns hung from the stone walls, chandeliers creaked above the dance floor, and candelabras lined the walkways of the small castle.

But a new feature was displayed at the end of the banquet hall; the taxidermied head of a goat.

“Mister Crowley, Mister Crowley!” a pack of elementary school children babbled, coming to a clomping halt in front of the restored Prince of Darkness. “Can we bob for more apples?” they asked, pointing excitedly across the room at a large water-and-apple-filled trough.

The demon was too stunned to speak. 

“Yes, children. Go on.” Aziraphale answered for his friend, smiling and shooing them off with a swishing of the lace around his wrists. Crowley turned to take in the sight of the angel, who was whole and healthy again. And, as per usual, glowing with a radiant happiness.

They gazed deeply at each other as their smiles grew.

A lingering little girl interrupted their tender moment. “Mr. Fell, do you have any more spooky ghost stories to tell?”

The angel’s smile shattered, and he quickly replied, “Nope!” Perhaps never again. “I think we’ve all had far too much of those for one night.” 

The little girl sighed loudly and stomped off.

Meanwhile, Anathema had slyly slipped her hand into Newton’s and dragged him away towards the garden. He did not protest her temptation, following eagerly.

Pepper placed her hands on her hips, asking crossly, “So do you still have your powers or not, Sir Adam Young?”

“That wasn't my powers. That was _ this,” _the boy held up the staff. Everyone around him flinched in fear, except Dog, who yapped excitedly at his master’s feet.

“I don’t think you should have that, boy,” Crowley sneered, not trusting the little devil one bit. 

“I don’t think _ anyone _ should have a thing like that,” Aziraphale straightened the lace of his collar nervously.

“Oh, it’s okay! It’s harmless now. See?” Adam clamped one hand around the dull stone. They all cried out as he did so, but nothing bad happened. His soul was not stolen. After giggling at their jumpiness, the boy sobered and earnestly apologized. “I’m... terribly sorry for all the trouble.” He looked pointedly at each of them in turn. Pepper. Wensleydale. Brian. Aziraphale. And especially Crowley. “Really, I am.”

Aziraphale sighed, and an air of peace seemed to be carried into the room by his breath. “Well, everything’s alright now, and that’s what matters.”

“Indeed,” Crowley mumbled, turning to glance around the room. “Though, I must say, I’m still quite_ parched._”

The group eyed him warily.

Turning to Aziraphale with a small smile, he offered, “Fancy some punch, angel?”

The angel’s eyes twinkled. “With all that’s happened--” he hesitantly corrected himself, “Or _ not _ happened tonight... I think I need something a tad bit stronger than punch.” Together they made for the bar. “Man the apple booth, will you, Adam?” the demon requested over his shoulder.

Adam eagerly obliged and invited his friends to come along with him.

* * *

Crowley placed his empty glass upon the stone banister of the balcony, his thirst _finally_ quenched. “Anyway, I’ll be shocked if I don’t win that bloody contest. I look just like him,” he finished his rambling, spreading his hands once more to subtly show off the collection of rings on his fingers.

“Did you really have to wear _ six _ cross necklaces, my dear?” Aziraphale cupped his own glass. There was only a few more gulps of alcohol left in it.

“You don’t like ‘em?” Crowley asked, truly concerned for a moment. Perhaps it had been a bit overkill.

Aziraphale hurriedly amended, “No, no, they’re fine. They look uh… good on you. The whole outfit, really! Erm….” All that black leather. He took a sip of his drink, finishing quietly, “You always look ravishing.”

Crowley smiled at the view of the garden below them, pretending not to hear such a fine compliment from the angel. If one listened closely enough, they might have been able to faintly hear the continuation of a certain witch and a monster's makeout session, hidden from young eyes somewhere down in the garden.

“Who exactly are _you_ supposed to be?” Crowley glanced over the angel once more, his eyes lingering shamelessly on the man’s stockings.

“Why, Casanova, of course. Don’t you recognize the coat? It was his favorite one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. Luckily I am not ailed with vampirism and don't bite, so let me know which parts resonated with you and which parts didn't. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I love interacting with my readers.
> 
> If you'd like to be notified when I post new works, you can subscribe to me as an author on my profile. Feel free to follow me on one of my various Tumblr blogs, also listed on my profile. If you have any fic requests/want to trade art for a fic, you can reach me at jennifernapier1142@gmail.com.


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